


The Account of Sir Percival

by Zaadi



Series: Alternate Third Series [4]
Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bloodshed, Fantasy, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-01
Updated: 2010-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-04 17:18:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaadi/pseuds/Zaadi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur, Merlin and several knights of Camelot have been forced to seek shelter in the enemy kingdom of Cameliard.  Arthur and his men must hide their identities; Merlin is drawn to the freedom of magic permitted by King Leodogran; and all soon find themselves caught amidst Cameliard's own political struggles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Account of Sir Percival

**Author's Note:**

> My Alternate Third Series is exactly what it sounds like: and alternate version of events that could have happened in the wake of 2.13, "The Last Dragonlord". Choosing to "re-do" as it were the third series stems from the simple fact that I started writing a Potential Third Series during the hiatus between series two and three. So no Percival--who appears in this story--had yet entered canon: this Percival is mine. 
> 
> Additionally, there is just enough violence to increase the archive warning; I don't suddenly go gore-crazy.

 

**3.4 The Account of Sir Percival**

* * *

The sheets of his bed felt different.  Merlin rolled over, still half-asleep.  The mattress was about the same, but the sheets felt different, and the blanket pulled up around his shoulders was heavier.  The aroma of baking bread filled his nostrils—that was definitely different.  Merlin opened his eyes.  It was only dawn—and this was not his room.

Intermittent laughter, a few shouts of recognition, the splash of water in buckets—the growing din of a waking city sounded through the open window.  Merlin lay in the bed, which was big enough for one person, and looked at Arthur on the bed opposite.  He was sitting at the foot, his bare feet on the floor, hands curled around the edge of the bed, looking toward the door.  

“Do you think they suspect who we are?”  Merlin sat up.

“I gave the King my word that we mean no harm.”  Arthur looked at Merlin and then stood up.  He was shirtless, as he often slept, but wore the pants he’d had on since they’d chased a manticore to the kingdom of Cameliard.  King Leodogran had agreed to quarter Arthur, Merlin, and the nine surviving knights who’d set out with them from Camelot.  The room Arthur and Merlin now shared was small, but tidy and comfortable.  It was on the street level of the castle, but tucked beside an unused alley of the city, affording them some privacy.

“How long do you think we’ll be here?”  Merlin watched as Arthur put on his shirt—the same shirt he’d been wearing for about a week.  They’d initially set out just to investigate the destruction of a neighboring village, but once there Arthur decided to pursue the beast that had caused it.  Nobody had a change of clothes.

“Until all the men are able to ride.”  Arthur grabbed his belt.

“What if Leodogran finds out who you are?  He might not like Uther’s son—”

“Then he’d better not find out who we are.  Merlin, I’m perfectly aware of the danger we’re in—my father’s warned me enough about kings like Leodogran.” 

“Who would see magic destroy us all.”

“Exactly.”  Arthur began sorting through the pieces of his armor.

“But magic destroyed the manticore.”

Arthur stared at his gauntlet, holding it between his hands, his right thumb rubbing a circle on some spot.  “For all we know the King’s sorcerer summoned it in the first place.”

“But for all we know, he didn’t.”

“Are you going to get up, or are you just going to lie in bed all day hoping some spell turns me into your servant?”

“I don’t think there’s magic strong enough.”

Arthur scowled and grabbed his boots from the floor.  Merlin got out of bed and dressed in the same time it took Arthur to pull on his boots—an act that seemed to disrupt some more important matter on Arthur's mind.

A knock sounded, and a servant brought breakfast in, bowing low as he left.

“Well, that answers that question.”  Merlin smiled and sat down.  Arthur stared at the door a minute before taking the opposite chair.  The food was simple but nourishing, the water fresh.  Knowing that the servant would come back to retrieve the dishes, Merlin and Arthur took pains to hide any insignia or token that would reveal Arthur’s identity as the Prince of Camelot.

The main square outside the steps of the castle thrived with people.  Merlin gawked at the sights around him, taking in the faces of the passers-by, the sounds, the smells, the buildings of dark-grey stones peppered with pink ones that made the walls seem bejeweled in the sunlight.  Arthur kept his eyes forward to their destination, inserting a dour presence into the animation of the city.

In Blaise’s chambers, Merlin ogled the books that teemed across the walls—he recognized many from Gaius’s own library, but others were unfamiliar and clearly on magic.  Blaise himself—sorcerer, physician, advisor—stood at a long table grinding dried leaves from one of the many jars littered throughout the room.  The man was dark, swarthy.  As tall as Arthur and Merlin, he had a graying beard trimmed in a neat circle around his mouth—Merlin guessed that he was twice their age, though younger than Leodogran.

“Did someone take a turn for the worse?”  Arthur indicated the mortar and pestle in Blaise’s slender fingers.

“Hm? Oh, no,” he lifted his dark-brown eyes to Arthur, “your men are awake, if you’d like to speak to them.”  He motioned his head toward a doorway leading to the adjacent room and picked up a small bottle filled with powder.  Arthur went out, but Merlin continued to take in the names on the magic books, the scrolls strewn about, the small desk where it appeared Blaise was transcribing one of the volumes.  Merlin peered at a jar crammed among the books that contained what looked like a dragon’s claw.

“Do you always poke around in other people’s spaces?”

“What?”  He jerked around—Blaise was facing him.  Merlin smiled, “Oh, uh, no—you just have an interesting . . . shop here.”

Blaise eyed Merlin’s height, his head following Merlin as the young man made his way to the door.  Merlin paused on the other side and watched Arthur speaking with Sir Brandt, whose leg had been broken.  Three other knights of Camelot had been hit with the manticore’s poison, and were lying awake nearby.  Most of the other dozen beds in the rather large room were occupied by Leodogran’s men, while the rest of Arthur’s knights were sharing rooms inside the castle.  Arthur finished whatever he was saying and steered Merlin back into Blaise’s chambers.

“I want to thank you for all you’ve done.”

Blaise lowered his head to Arthur.

“How long until my men can travel?”

“Blaise,” a servant fell through the doorway, out of breath.  “The King needs you in the courtyard.”

Merlin and Arthur followed Blaise outside where a retinue of Cameliard’s knights and servants stood waiting with King Leodogran.  A party of some importance was approaching from the gates.  Merlin and Arthur couched themselves among the crowd as Blaise took a place by Leodogran’s side.

A small contingent of knights, in polished armor and white, gold-trimmed mantles rode up.  Their leader stared down at Leodogran from his richly adorned white stallion.

“Greetings, Leodogran,” the man smiled.

“Prince Lot.  How lovely of you to drop by.”

“Rumor has it that you had a bit of trouble yesterday.”

“Rumor has many things, Lot—she’s greedy that way.”

“Then you are in no need of assistance?”

“As you can see.  And besides, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you— not with your obviously over-compounded schedule that won’t allow you to even dismount for a civilized conversation—with my piffling little problems.”

Prince Lot smiled large.  “My humblest apologies, good King, but indeed you are correct—I am busy.  Marauders daily raid poor villages, including those along your own borders, as you surely know, and we are on our way to prevent a massacre.”

“And these marauders are going to wait until you get there?”  Blaise narrowed his eyes.

“The benefit of good spies—they allow one to predict and prepare.  I detoured here only in my concern for your safety and that of your daughter.  She does still belong to you?  You haven’t given her away while I wasn’t looking?”

“My daughter belongs to herself, Lot.”  Leodogran sighed and forced a smile, “But we thank you for your concern.  In fact, when you are done saving poor villages, we would be happy to provide relief to your wounded, tired knights, and to wash your white dainties which will certainly become soiled.”    

Lot’s smile lost its luster.  “Your generosity is most—generous,” he shifted in his saddle.  “But we can see to our own—far more easily than you.”

Prince Lot’s men turned their horses about in one synchronized motion and trotted away.  Lot’s own white horse took a shit with the nonchalance of all horses, while Lot stared at Leodogran.

“My lord,” Lot bowed his head and turned to join his men, the stench of horseshit rising from the ground behind him.  

Merlin watched Lot leave.  “I’m sorry I ever called you a pompous, arrogant, obnoxious, spoiled ass,” he said to Arthur as they moved toward the king’s party.  Arthur glowered in Merlin’s direction.

“Who _was_ that?” Merlin asked Blaise.  The servants and most of the knights had returned to their normal duties—Blaise and Leodogran stood with only one pair of guards.

“Why, are you deaf?” Blaise answered. 

“Just stupid,” Arthur said.

Leodogran stared toward the gates of his city.  “Inform me immediately when Anna returns,” he said to the knight beside him.  The knight nodded, and Leodogran marched off.

“Okay, I’ll rephrase.  Who’s Prince Lot?”

“Just a visitor.”  Blaise turned away, heading back to his chambers.  They followed.

“Prince Lot of Lothian is the son of King Sichelm, to the north,” Arthur said.  “His father is still alive, though dying from what I understand, and Lot is already happily reigning.”

“You seem to know quite a bit,” Blaise glanced at Arthur.

“We’ve—traveled quite a bit.”

“Some of you more than others.”  Blaise looked at Merlin.

“I take it the Princess has refused his proposal,” Arthur said.

“Where is Anna?”  Merlin looked around as if she were hiding behind the next corner.

“She rode out early this morning.”  Blaise entered his chambers and returned to the powders on his table.

“Does she do that often? Ride out alone?”  Arthur asked, watching Blaise.

Blaise paused in his process, examining Arthur who stood staring back.  “Anna regularly visits nearby villages and homes, but no, she does not ride alone, not these days.  At least, she’s usually smart enough not to.  Percival and Bors are escorting her today.  Are you asking out of curiosity?”

“She’s not like other princesses,” Merlin’s voice muttered.  He faced a wall of books, staring, bringing his hand up to almost touch one of the magic books piled on the shelves.  Arthur and Blaise paused.  They glanced at Merlin out of the corner of their eyes, and pivoted around to look straight at him.  Merlin hovered over the spine of a book, let his finger fall, and caressed the binding. 

“You know a lot of princesses, then?”  Blaise looked from Merlin to Arthur.

Merlin turned around, realizing he was now the focus of attention.  “I’ve met several.  Well, actually two—one.”

Arthur sneered and shook his head.  Merlin avoided his gaze, moving to the middle of the room.

Blaise turned back to Arthur.  “If you’re interested in Anna, you can seek her out yourself—you’ll find she’s very polite.  But as to your earlier question: your man with the broken leg shouldn’t ride until it’s healed, but everyone else will be fine by this evening.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I am in the middle of something.”

 

With no duties to perform, there wasn’t much to do.  Whatever the affairs of Cameliard, they kept the King occupied with his council.  Few questions had been answered, and Arthur and his men were left to their own devices.  Arthur and Merlin sat on the steps of the castle watching the bustle of the city.  Arthur fidgeted, picking apart pieces of straw from the ground, brushing dirt off his shirt sleeves repeatedly, pounding the heel of his foot against the ground to a tempo only he knew.  _Would you wipe that stupid smile off your face,_ he’d said to Merlin, who just kept watching the streets in front of them.

The Princess rode up to the steps at midday—she was followed by three riders.  Arthur hastened toward her, but she had already jumped off her horse.  She wore grey trousers and a blue shirt with a purple vest.  Merlin recognized Bors and Percival behind her, and they wore the dark brown capes of Cameliard— but the third rider was a black-clad woman, olive-skinned, her loose dark hair tangled about her shoulders.  Merlin stared—the hint of a grin poking the corners of his lips—as she dismounted.  Her muddy black boots, pulled over trousers, rose to her knees and a large knife hung at the small of her back.

“Lady Anna,” Arthur grabbed the reins of Anna’s horse.

Anna ran her fingers across the side of her head, combing wild strands of blond hair back into her braid.  She smiled at Arthur, stole a glance at Merlin.  “Did you sleep well?” 

“Yes, thank you.”  Arthur patted the nose of her horse.  Both Percival and Bors were watching him.  “You missed Prince Lot’s appearance this morning.”

“Oh dear,” she rolled her eyes.  “Cara,” Anna called to the dark woman.  “Caradoc, this is our potentially illustrious, potentially dangerous rogue of a guest.  He and his men are recuperating with us.”

Merlin got up and joined Arthur.

“My Lady,” Arthur took Caradoc’s outstretched hand and kissed it.

“Le Bel Inconnu,” Caradoc seized Arthur’s hand and kissed it.  Anna grinned at Arthur who stood stunned.

“I’m Merlin.”  Merlin offered his hand to Caradoc who shook it.

“I see you get a name.”

“Oh, I’m nobody,” Merlin kept a hold of her hand.  Arthur froze.

“So you’re somebody, then?”  Anna said to Arthur.  Merlin released Caradoc’s hand, turned his head just enough to smile weakly at Arthur.  Arthur remained silent.

“Percy,” Anna said loudly, still eying Arthur, “did you need to go see your family?”

“Yes my Lady, with your leave.”

Anna nodded.  Percival bowed his head and walked off.  Arthur and Merlin watched him go.

“Bors will be reporting to my father—if the goings-on of our little kingdom hold any interest to you while you’re here.”  Anna nodded to Arthur, to Merlin, and laced her arm through Caradoc’s, leading her off.

“Right this way—Bel Inconnu.”  Bors walked up the castle steps and through the doors, not checking to see if they followed.

~                                                  

Sir Cadoc was tending to his own horse when Sir Percival entered the stables.  As long as Arthur chose to stay in the city, their horses were quartered alongside those of Cameliard.  Cadoc nodded to Percival.  Percival returned the gesture and moved to examine the horse beside Cadoc’s.

“Your men have sturdy horses.”  Percival said, petting the horse.

“Thank you.  They are fine creatures.”  Cadoc smiled and finished brushing his horse.

Percival moved down the line, selecting a fresh, saddled horse and leading it back toward the door.  Sir Cadoc, still no more than one of the nameless men from unknown lands, was just putting on a saddle.

“You know we have stable boys and hostlers who can do that?”  Percival said.

“We don’t want to be a burden.”

Percival caught a flash of bright red from beneath Cadoc’s saddle.  He paused.  “You don’t seem to want to be here at all.”  Percival stared at the red—it was part of a larger piece of cloth stashed among the blankets beneath the saddle.  On it was a bit of embroidery, or an insignia, much of which was obscured—but enough showed to see that it was a dragon.

Cadoc was occupied adjusting the saddle.  “No—on the contrary,” he said.  “Your king has been very kind and generous to us.  But we are much farther from home than we intended to be.”  Cadoc looked up at Percival.

“Well don’t worry,” Percival smiled and briefly turned his attention to his own horse, “Blaise is the finest physician I’ve ever met—you’ll be ready to leave in no time.”  His smile faded.  He bowed his head to Cadoc, glancing quickly at the saddle, then led his horse out into the afternoon air.  Percival took in the position of the sun as he mounted, then he set off at a full gallop through the city streets and out the gate, people jumping out of his way as he passed.

~

“I hear Anna’s friend gave you a name today.”  Leodogran sat back as a servant set a plateful of food before him.

“The men are already calling him Bel.”  Anna glanced at Arthur and then shot her father a raised eyebrow.

“Are they indeed?”  Leodogran watched two servants pour wine into his goblet, as well as the three others.  Arthur, Anna and Blaise had joined Leodogran for dinner.  The four of them sat at the head of a long table in a modest dining hall.  Arthur and Blaise were on Leodogran’s right, Anna on his left, directly across from Arthur.

“So it seems,” said Arthur.  “News travels fast—I myself heard something today about raids along your borders.”

“The knights of Cameliard can handle raiders, if you’re concerned for your safety.”  Blaise stabbed a small piece of meat, monitoring it as he brought it to his mouth, as though it would jump back onto the plate if he wasn’t careful.

Arthur stared at Blaise, and was in turn watched by both Leodogran and Anna.  “Actually, I was concerned for yours,” he said.  “The report from Sir Bors indicated that these marauders manage to replenish their supplies—including men— far more quickly than you.”

“Ah, yes, I remember that,” Leodogran leaned back and stroked his chin with one hand, holding an elbow with the other.  “Dear Bors thought that these bands of thieves were under the aegis of a far more powerful enemy.”  Leodogan nodded to himself as though some deep realization had come upon him.  Anna looked at Arthur, trying not to smile, while Blaise pretended to be more concerned with his food.

“I mean no disrespect—”

“Good.”  Leodogran leaned forward and picked up his knife.

“We can handle marauders,” Blaise mumbled, a mouthful of bread.

“Unless, of course,” Anna picked up her fork and began moving the food around on her plate, “these raids are, as Bors believes, designed to make us expend resources, to whittle us down until we are too weak.  We have lost knights.”  She took a bite.

Arthur looked to Leodogran, but he chewed slowly, disinclined to speak with so full a mouth.

“Who would use such a tactic?”  Arthur asked.  “Who would want the war—and who would hire mercenaries willing to work solely for the privilege of thieving?”

“They’re not working solely for the privilege of thieving,” Anna said.  “I’m sure they’re getting gold in addition to what they steal—they would not be so diligent in their duties otherwise.”

“I don’t think so,” Arthur said.  Leodogran and Blaise watched him, exchanging glances now and again.  “Anyone planning to go to war won’t waste money on disloyal brigands,” he continued, “And thieves won’t stop just because someone seized a throne—it’s a treacherous strategy.  Who’d risk it?”

“You’re assuming this unseen enemy cares what happens to villagers and townsfolk.  He may have no intention of making the marauders stop—perhaps he even plans to tax them for his leniency.”

Arthur looked at Anna, her hair, still tightly braided, a tiara draped around her brow.  She wore a simple blue dress, one ring on each hand, and a black band hugged her throat with a tear-drop shaped pearl resting above her sternum.  Her blue eyes stared back at him, a forkful of food waiting in her hand.

“You don’t believe there’s some mastermind at work behind these constant raids on our borders?”  Blaise lifted his goblet.

Arthur paused.  “I know that there’s never a shortage of scavengers around a dead animal, and they don’t necessarily coordinate.”

“But that requires a predator to kill the animal in the first place,” Blaise said.

“We’re not dead yet.”  Anna stared at Arthur, her hands flat on either side of her plate.

“I meant—”

“No disrespect?”  Leodogran met Arthur’s eyes, but there was no accusation in his tone or his gaze.  Arthur looked to his plate for a moment.

“You really think someone’s using marauders as a war tactic?”

“Not everyone cares about honor when wealth and notoriety are to be had.”  Leodogran looked at Arthur over his wine and contemplated the designs decorating the goblet.  His eyes perked up, noticing something across from him.  “And Blaise, I thought I told you to make a charm so the devil would stop appearing whenever it was the topic of conversation.”

Blaise sighed and Anna closed her eyes, muttering to herself.  Leodogran signaled for more wine and a servant filled his goblet to the brim.  Arthur looked down the table to the far end of the hall where a matronly woman stood.  She was attired richly in gold and purple, her graying hair ornately piled atop her head and as she approached, Arthur could see she wore gems all around her neck and on each finger.  She came to stand between Leodogran and Arthur, smiling as she wrapped a hand around the back of Leodogran’s chair.

“Julia,” he took a large helping of food and continued speaking, inscrutable sounds coming from his overfull mouth, his hands gesturing in the air.  The lady looked at him with the same exact smile.

“Forgive us,” Blaise said to Arthur.  “This is the Lady Julia.”

The woman turned to Arthur and offered her hand, continuing to display her smile.  She wore minimal cosmetics and eyed Arthur’s person as if selecting a fabric for a new dress.  Arthur stood and kissed her hand. 

“My Lady,” he bowed.

Her smile shifted to one of genuine amusement and approval.  She eyed Arthur again.

“You must be our fair, unknown guest,” she said.  “But are you fair only in appearance?”  For a third time, she sent her eyes over Arthur, moving to the other side of his chair by Blaise, then moving back to stand by Leodogran.

“Stop circling like a vulture, Julia.”  Leodogran had swallowed his food.  “Sit,” he said to Arthur, who obeyed.

“A mysterious band of men drops a monster on our doorstep, and you invite them to stay without the slightest probing?”  Julia moved around to Leodogran’s other side and gave Anna a look.  Anna smiled with a closed mouth and moved down one chair.  Blaise, now directly across from her rolled his eyes in sympathy.  Julia sat down in Anna’s seat.  “Dear cousin, even you could not be that much of a fool.” 

“Am I not?  And yet, here we are.”

“We didn’t drop a monster on you—we followed its rampage here.  And yes, I requested that I be allowed to keep my name to myself.”

“A strange request,” Julia said.  “From what kingdom did you follow it?”

“Through many.”

“But which one was the first?”

“Julia,” Leodogran’s voice sharpened, “he has given his word that his intentions here are honorable—that is all I need to know.”

“His word?”

“I encounter so few that are worth taking.”  Leodogran’s and Julia’s eyes squared off.

Julia snapped her head toward Arthur.  “Then welcome to Cameliard—I hope you find our _humble_ kingdom to your liking.”

Anna spoke up, “I think it’s time for me to retire—I’m just so exhausted by today’s events.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t—” Julia picked up Anna’s goblet.

“My friend,” Anna interrupted, speaking to Arthur, “would you be so kind as to escort me to my chambers?  Who knows what rogues might sneak past our sluggish guards,” she glared at Julia, who finished off the wine in Anna’s cup.

Arthur nodded.  The room was silent as they both stood and bowed their heads to Leodogran and Blaise, and Arthur to the Lady Julia.  Servant’s opened the door where Arthur took Anna’s proffered arm.  They heard Julia remark _well he seems compliant_ as they turned down the corridor and the huge doors clanged shut.

“I apologize for that,” Anna said.

“For not introducing me to your cousin before, or for introducing me to your cousin at all?”

Anna laughed, her smile easy and bright.

“Let me guess, her bark is loud and rough, but she’s harmless?” Arthur said.

“Julia’s yipping is far too sleek to be loud or rough, and ‘harmless’ is the last word I would apply to her.”  Anna’s face fell and Arthur could feel her hand tense around his arm.

“Is she a mastermind?”

Anna stared in front of her.  They passed a servant carrying linens, who pressed against the wall to let them pass.

“Yes.  But not of raids,” Anna said quietly, her eyes still on the corridor ahead.

“Then Lot must be the main suspect.”

A small smile crept across Anna’s face.  She stopped and turned to Arthur.  “Blaise is right—we can handle marauders.”  She continued down the hall, still holding Arthur’s arm.  “But you know you’re right about scavengers.  Our enemies do outnumber our friends.”

“I know.”  Arthur frowned, looking straight.

“Do you?”  Anna stared askance at him.  They turned a corner and she returned her gaze to the long hallway.  “But we’re still powerful enough that it will cost any conqueror who wishes to try.”

“Unless you’re besieged by multiple enemies at once.  Why not send for help?”  Arthur glanced at her.

She didn’t answer.  They mounted stairs and went down another passageway lit up by torches.

“My father’s policies are not popular among many other kings,” she said.  “Those who are friendly toward us are not so kind as to ally themselves with us.”  She stopped in front of a door.  “As I said, we can handle the marauders, such as they are.  If you need a cart to carry home your man with the broken leg, we’ll be happy to lend you one.”  She smiled.  “Goodnight—Bel Inconnu.”

“Goodnight, Lady Anna.”

Arthur stared a moment at the wood of the closed door to Anna’s chambers, its roughness, the torch beside it.  He passed back down the corridors distracted, nearly running into a servant carrying a full ewer.  And once back in his own room, he watched the night in the alley outside the window, though the only view was of stone and sky.

~ 

“Did you sleep at all last night?” Merlin looked at Arthur standing by the window.  Arthur wore only his trousers and didn’t respond to the question.  Merlin looked at the bed beside his—the blankets were rumpled and thrown back, so Arthur at least had gotten into bed at some point.

“You know, I think Sir Brandt could make it back to Camelot if we traveled slow,” Merlin said.  “And maybe King Leodogran would loan us a couple horses to replace the ones we lost.”

“Anna offered us a cart.”  Arthur kept his gaze to the deserted alley.

“So we’re going home today?”

“Do you miss Gaius?”

“I miss a lot of things.  Like a change of clothes.”  He sniffed his shirt.

“Merlin, if I can survive with only one outfit, I think you can too.  Don’t you anyway?”  Arthur turned to look at Merlin.

“I see your amazing observational skills are as keen as ever—as it turns out, I happen to own several shirts.”

“Well you’ll just have to wait to wear them again because we’re not going back to Camelot today.  Go fetch some water, would you."

“What do you mean, we’re—”

“Now, Merlin.”  Arthur turned his back to the room, again gazing at the empty street outside their window.  Merlin, exasperated, threw off his covers and pulled on his boots.  He squinted into the bright morning sun as he made his way to the water pump where three others were already queued up.  Taking a place behind them, he noticed Caradoc sitting wide-legged on an overturned barrel beside a fruit vendor.  She wore a vivid red dress, the hem of which was blackened with dust and soil.  Her boots were brown, and she rested her elbows on her knees as she sliced an apple, bringing the pieces to her mouth and chewing slowly.  A man cut in line ahead of Merlin, who didn’t notice. 

Merlin finally reached the head of the line and began filling his bucket with water as Caradoc finished her apple—and as Sir Percival appeared from behind the vender.  He said something to Caradoc, who threw the apple core to the side of the street where a rat immediately claimed it.  She stood and they started walking.  Merlin fell into step behind them, carrying the full bucket carefully.

“He’s short, with wide, brown eyes,” Merlin heard Percival say, “and he has very short hair, almost sheared to the skull.  He’s unshaven, but doesn’t have a full beard, and his clothes would appear rich and fine if they weren’t so dirty.”

“And where do you expect me to find this man?  Do you have a name?”  Caradoc said.

“No, no name.”

“Why do you want him found?”  Caradoc turned her head to look at Percival, and Merlin looked to the ground in front of him.

Percival was silent for a moment.  “I saw him on the road this morning— _early_ this morning—alone, and thought I recognized him from one of the groups of raiders.  It’s probably nothing.”

“I do know some people who take note of travelers.  Is there any place in particular that you think I should begin my inquiries?”

Merlin turned the corner to an entrance near his and Arthur’s room, glancing first over his shoulder to see which way Percival and Caradoc headed.  He overheard no more of their conversation.   

Back in the room, he and Arthur began washing themselves as best they could.

“Why aren’t we going back to Camelot?  And don’t say Sir Brandt’s leg.”  Merlin splashed water onto his face, garnering an annoyed glare from Arthur.

“Because it would be rude to run off right now.”  Arthur positioned himself between Merlin and the water.

“Why?  What would we be running from?”  Merlin said over Arthur’s shoulder.

“I don’t know—it’s just inappropriate to leave right now.”  Arthur grabbed Merlin’s neckerchief and dried his face with it before Merlin could snatch it back.  “”There’s something going on here.”  He threw the neckerchief back at Merlin.

“Like what?  Oh look, two little towels.”  Merlin presented them on outstretched arms.

“I don’t _know,_ Merlin—but Leodogran helped us with the manticore and treated our wounds, if there’s something we can do in return—” Arthur took a towel and paused, staring into the water.  “We just can’t leave right now.”

“But the longer we’re here, the more likely they are to find out who you are.”

Arthur soaked the towel and began wiping down his arms and chest.

“And won’t your father wonder where we are?”

“We’re _not leaving_ , Merlin.” Arthur threw the wet towel at Merlin’s face.  He pulled on his shirt, “so get used to it.”

~ 

Sir Percival watched Arthur and Merlin roam the streets of Cameliard.  These two men, still strangers to him, made an odd pair.  The blond one, who had come to be called Le Bel Inconnu, was indeed handsome, and walked with assurance—poise—a confidence that lived only in those who had never wanted for anything in life.  He was the leader of the men, that much had been admitted, but his blue eyes were far too expressive—he was not a man accustomed to lying.  Or losing, Percival sensed.  The other one managed to be both darker and lighter than his companion.  He acted much like a child, gaping wide-eyed at the sights around him, getting distracted by passers-by or the apothecary’s shop, even losing his friend two or three times in a crowd or around a corner.  Yet his blue eyes were like the icy depths of the sea—impenetrable.  This man was no simpleton, Percival knew, and not to be dismissed off-hand.  As to their relationship—it was hard to decipher.

Percival followed Arthur and Merlin around the quarters of Cameliard.  They passed a group of druids seeking supplies and a bite to eat.  Cameliard’s forests and hills hosted several distinct clans of druids—Percival recognized this group from the northern set. 

Merlin watched them, grinning, while Arthur pretended to examine something, then glanced at their backs once they’d gone by.  The two then wandered to the lower town where they met Anna.  She was speaking to an elderly gentleman whose five-year-old granddaughter hid behind his legs.  They were from a small town that had been pillaged the month before, and razed to the ground—only a handful escaped, and these were now safe within the walls of Cameliard, surviving as best they could.  Arthur and Merlin greeted Anna and the man, and listened to the conversation for a bit.  When Bors come by, Arthur and Merlin left with him.

Percival watched Merlin and Arthur go.  The little girl’s bright eyes peeked around her grandfather’s leg to stare up at the Princess.  Anna smiled and winked.  Percival noticed Caradoc standing inside one of the nearby buildings, leaning out of the window, listening to Anna and the old man.  Caradoc, in turn, noticed Percival.  He nodded.  She nodded.  She disappeared from the window.  Percival made his way around to the other side of the building where she waited.  

“Don’t worry, Percy, I’ll find your mystery man.  In the meantime, though, I notice you’ve been trailing our other unknown.”

“Cameliard has enough troubles, I’d rather he not be another one.”

“Anna thinks he means well.”

Percival nodded.  “Will you be looking for my man soon?”

Caradoc contemplated Percival’s face for a moment.  “Anna was just asking the survivor of an earlier raid if he’d seen him—I need all the details I can get.”

“And?”

“And no one’s seen him.  Or rather, no one’s noticed him—he still could have been there.”

Percival was quiet, staring off at nothing in particular.

“It would really help if I knew why you thought this man so significant,” she said.

“It’s just a feeling.”  He came back to himself, “thank you, Cara.  And now I must go finish my stalking.”  Percival meandered through the busy streets and alleyways of the city.  Cameliard was much larger than it seemed from a distance, but Percival walked with purpose, succinctly turning corners and trudging down lanes.  He made his way up some stairs to an overlook where Bors, Merlin and Arthur were talking, the vista of the city stretched out before them.

“So the Lady Anna doesn’t maintain her distance from the townspeople,” Arthur said, his arms crossed, his head bobbing as if in agreement or conceding some point.

“You say that like she should stay in her chambers wearing pretty dresses and making sure all her rings still fit,” Bors said.

“ _No_.”  “That’s not what he said.”  Arthur and Merlin spoke simultaneously.

“Anna simply believes that the welfare of a kingdom is tied to the wellbeing of its people.”  Percival approached them.  “And yes, as you observed,” he said to Arthur, “she isn’t afraid to get the dirt of the poor on her nice clothes.”

“If a king fails to serve his people, then they have no reason to continue serving him.” Arthur said, his eyes on the view, his voice low.

A smile threatened the corners of Merlin’s mouth, as Bors raised an eyebrow at Arthur.  Percival, astonished, examined Arthur, scrutinizing his face, his clothes, his posture.  Arthur turned his head and met Percival’s eyes.

“I suppose most people—like the Lady Julia—disapprove of Anna,” Arthur said.

“But you don’t think she’s outside her purview?”

Arthur shook his head.  “No.”

“Doesn’t Leodogran worry that she runs around to all the villages that might be attacked?”  Merlin asked. 

“Of course he does,” Bors said.

“She’s his most precious jewel.”  Percival still stared at Arthur, who still stared back.  “And her opinions often reflect his—they talk quite a bit about the needs of the people.”  He looked to Bors and cocked his head toward the stairs.  Bors took his leave.  “But from the way you spoke, that idea seems to have been weighing on your mind for some time.”

“And that surprises you?”

Merlin was standing back, alternating his attention between the two men in front of him.

“Yes, actually, it does.  Especially from the son of Uther Pendragon.”

Merlin and Arthur both jerked their heads at Percival, a spasm of shock jolting through them.  They glanced at each other, mouths parted but speechless.

“Why are you here?”  Percival’s voice gained a sudden edge.

“How do you know me?  Does anyone else know?”  Arthur stepped closer to Percival, one hand half raised—a plea—while Merlin stole nervous glances at the entrance of the overlook where Bors had departed.

Percival stared at Arthur silently.

Arthur turned, started to pace, changed his mind.  He looked back at Percival.  “We were trying to stop the manticore—we hunted it here—there’s nothing ulterior to our presence, I swear.  Now who else knows who I am?”

Percival contemplated Arthur.  “ _I_ have told no one.  But Leodogran is not stupid, nor is he surrounded by idiots—eventually, they will figure you out.  Why are you staying?”

“One of our knights has a broken leg,” Merlin said.

Percival stared at Arthur, letting Merlin’s words fall unacknowledged.

“We can help,” said Arthur finally.  “This situation with the marauders is worse than they’re letting on—I can tell that much.”

“Eleven men—one with a broken leg—are going to turn the tide?”  Percival sneered.

“I’m not going to just abandon you.”

Percival snorted.

“I owe Leodogran—if not for his hospitality, if not for his indulgence for me hiding my name, then for stopping the manticore.  I will not turn my back on someone who needs help.”

A cloud passed across the sun, pulling a shadow over the three men.  With it, Percival’s expression darkened.  He stared at the city of Cameliard laid out before them.  The sun again warmed their faces, but Percival still gazed out, his form rigid, his eyes indecipherable.

“Fine,” Percival pronounced.  “I suppose that when your own stupidity gets you killed, Uther’s wrath will destroy the menace of the petty thieves—along with most of Cameliard.  But we do have your word that you mean no harm, don’t we,” he said as he walked away.

~ 

“I think he can be trusted,” Anna said.

Merlin peered into the throne room from behind a voluminous tapestry filled with unicorns and dragons.  He’d been trapped when Leodogran, Anna, Blaise, Percival and the Lady Julia walked into the room single file, debating about Arthur.  Merlin was entranced by Leodogran’s policies, and like a pilgrim had wished to see this room from which resolutions and edicts came.  Now he wished he knew an invisibility spell, but the darkness of the night outside the windows and the barely-lit hall obscured him well enough where he hid.  Leodogran slouched on the throne while the others stood in an arc before him. 

“You think we should use him—for what purpose?” Blaise asked her.  “We still have no idea who he is.”

“No, we still have no idea what his _name_ is,” Anna said, “he reveals who he is in his actions.  Every day he’s here, the more he shows his true self.  And so far, he’s been the most honest guest we’ve had in quite some time.”  She shot a brief look toward the Lady Julia.

“My dearest Anna, I do believe you have some more . . . feminine motive in mind,” Julia said.  “But Blaise is right, you should know more about your pretty pet before inviting him too far in.”

Leodogan’s narrowed eyes shot knives at Julia.

“There could still be some trickery afoot, Anna,” Blaise sighed.  “A name, a place of origin—”

“An excuse for an execution?  Mistrust really is ingrained into your soul, isn’t it Blaise?”

“Experience.”

“Percival,” Leodogran sighed, “what do you think?”

Percival thought hard—it seemed at first as if he had not heard the question.  Finally, he said softly, “it’s possible he can help.  You said it yourself, Blaise, there are few reasons to hide one’s identity.  Name or no, we know something about where he comes from.”

“An enemy,” Blaise said.

“Or a fugitive,” Leodogran said.

“Or a rogue who likes to play games,” Julia said.  “None of these options bode well for us.”

Leodogran brought his hands in prayer up to his mouth, laying his forefingers against his lips.  He closed his eyes, and the room was silent as he deliberated.  “You forget his men were injured when they came here, Blaise,” he opened his eyes and interlaced his fingers in his lap.  “I think you read too much into coincidence.  Until he misbehaves, or gives us reason to throw him out, he may remain while his man recuperates.”

The decision made, the impromptu council disbanded.  Merlin stiffened against the wall as the Lady Julia passed by.  Percival paused at the doorway, looking back at Anna linking her arm with her father’s and Blaise accompanying them out a door behind the throne.  Percival watched the emptiness they left behind as if the shadows could address what was on his mind.  Then he, too, left, and Merlin emerged from behind the tapestry.

“They want to use you,” he told Arthur as they lay down to sleep.  Arthur closed his eyes and didn’t reply.

“Aren’t you curious what they want from you?”

Silence.

“So you’re not going to ask—you’re just going to hope for the best—these are your father’s enemies.”

“Does that mean they have to be mine?”  Arthur turned his head to look at Merlin.

Merlin looked at Arthur, but didn’t reply.  He turned his face to the ceiling.

“There’s nothing I can ask, Merlin, I can only wait.  Now go to sleep.”

The next morning, Arthur did make an inquiry—he asked to join the training exercises.  Not only was permission granted, but a change of clothes was provided for all of Arthur’s men, including Merlin.  No sooner had Arthur pulled on the fresh pair of trousers, when he put Merlin on laundry duty.  In between washing and scrubbing and hanging and folding, Merlin watched Arthur join Percival in the exercise yard—and he was not the only observer.  Anna and several servants and townsfolk—many children—also drew near.  The training knights had an outright audience.  The main attraction seemed to be an unspoken competition between Arthur and Percival—many felt Arthur had the upper hand, while others speculated that Percival was going easy on him.

“Does he always get so angry when he fights?” Merlin asked Anna.

“Percy’s not angry.”

“He’s just jealous because he’s not the fairest knight in all the land anymore,” one of the servant girls said as her friends giggled.  Merlin, too, smiled and turned his attention back to the fight.

“Percy just misses his family,” Anna said.

“He has a family?”  Merlin looked at her.

“Mother, wife, a newborn son—no, actually, he’d be almost a year now.  They all live just outside a small village to the west.”

“Why don’t they live here with him?”

“Neither his wife nor his mother wanted to live in a city—they prefer the privacy of small towns where everyone knows everyone else’s business.”  Anna smirked at Merlin, who chuckled.

“They’re not bad, small towns.  I come from one myself, I highly recommend them.”

Anna smiled, still watching the action.  A fight was in full force now, and both the knights of Cameliard and the knights of Camelot exchanged glances, wondering if someone would have to break it up.  But then Arthur disarmed Percival, knocking him to the ground, and the gathered crowd cheered.  Arthur offered Percival his hand, and it was accepted.  Back on his feet, Percival clenched Arthur’s hand and pulled him close—almost an embrace.

“Well, it seems the great Prince Arthur Pendragon’s reputation is justified,” he whispered into Arthur’s ear.  Percival pulled back and bowed to Arthur.  Training for the day was over, and Percival marched off.

“So you two are best friends now, right?” Merlin said as Arthur walked up to them.

Except that they barely saw Percival after that—he seemed to disappear into the city walls.  Whenever Arthur or Merlin asked about him, they were told he was around, but never saw him.  Leodogran, too, seemed to vanish, but into the council chambers where some deliberation was taking place.  Days went by and the knights of Camelot grew antsy.  Arthur refused to say when they were leaving, which elicited profuse apologies from Sir Brandt for his broken leg.  _Why are we staying?_ Merlin asked Arthur each night in their beds.  _Cameliard needs our help,_ was the only reply he gave. 

Anna, on the other hand, became Arthur’s constant companion.  _If you insist on staying,_ she’d said, _then I think perhaps I should give you a tour._   Knowing glances were exchanged throughout the castle, and more than one knight—from Camelot and Cameliard—rolled his eyes.  Arthur also rolled his eyes at intimations of romance, and though no one knew what the Lady Anna thought, maids and servants around her laughed in Merlin’s face when he brought up Anna’s _interest_ in Arthur. 

“Oh your friend seems like a decent match,” the serving girl said, “it’s just not what’s going on.”

 

One evening, as twilight passed to night, refugees flooded the city.  Nearly a hundred.  Multiple villages had been attacked within the span of two hours.  Villages surrounding Cameliard in all four directions—a circle of pillaging.  According to the refugees, very few had been killed, but they had been driven from their homes, and as they fled beheld the conflagration set by all the raiders.  Every village had burned.  The descriptions of the raiders, however, varied considerably.

“No coordination, huh?” Blaise hissed in Arthur’s ear.  Though few had died, most were injured, and Blaise was running around trying to organize treatment.  Sanam, the midwife, shouted for a space, and Anna ordered the great hall to be cleared.  Along with Sanam, the apothecary and two druids were seeing to injuries under Blaise’s supervision. 

“But why would they let everybody live, and did they actually steal anything?” Merlin asked, watching the parade of wounded.  Arthur’s face was set as the knights of Camelot joined the commotion.

“Help however you can,” he ordered his men, and ran off through the streets looking for Anna, as Merlin trailed after him.  

“Ask me,” he said when he finally found her on the parapet above the gates, watching the line of refugees over the darkened countryside.  Leodogran had sent knights out to light the way, and the torches starred the plain beyond the city.

“Ask me to help.”

“Are you not?”  She kept her eyes on the obscured vista, trying to penetrate the fallen night.

“I don’t just mean _right now_ —they are planning a siege, you know that?  There’s no other reason to intentionally pack a city full of people.”

Anna didn’t move.  Merlin stared agape at Arthur.  

“You’ve done nothing but drop hints since we came here—Anna!— _just ask me_.”

She moved, but to lean over the edge of the wall to look at a rider racing toward the city.

“Come with me,” she said, and rushed passed them.  She navigated the crowds of refugees, ordering Merlin to draw some water, and stopping by the kitchen herself to grab some food and wine.  Outside her chambers, they spotted Caradoc just turning the corner at the opposite end of the corridor. 

She entered Anna’s chambers behind the princess, eyeing Arthur and Merlin.  Anna laid the food and wine and water on the table and handed a towel to Caradoc.

“Dugan, nephew to Royns.”  Caradoc washed her hands and face.

“You’re sure?”  Anna asked, and Caradoc nodded her head.  “Does he have his uncle’s army, or just a large band of brigands?”

“Apparently, Royns has loaned only half his army to his dear, ambitious nephew.  It probably keeps Dugan out of his hair.”

“How do you know this?” Arthur asked as Caradoc sat down to eat.

“I asked nicely.” Caradoc took a bite while Anna smiled.

“Lot seemed a little too successful in taking advantage of the marauders, so I sent Cara to—ask.  So few take her seriously, which has its advantages.”  

“You’re a spy?” Merlin asked.  Caradoc bowed her head.

“Why aren’t you reporting to Leodogran?” Arthur asked.

“Cara prefers to work discreetly.” Anna said as Caradoc chewed.  "My father will be informed."

“And how is Lot taking advantage?” asked Arthur.

“He extorts the men of the villages into joining his own army, promising some form of protection which has yet to appear,” Anna replied.

“If this Dugan is the one who wants to attack Cameliard, why isn’t he forcing men to join his army?” Merlin looked from Anna to Caradoc.

“It didn’t occur to him.” Caradoc cheeked the food in her mouth.  “Punches and swordplay are about _all_ Dugan knows how to do.”

“Why’s Lot building up his army if he has no interest in you?” Arthur said to Anna.

“Oh, he’s interested—he just thinks he can wait for us to run to him as our savior.  He wants to expand his realm, through war or intimidation—I don’t think he cares—he just likes having his big bad army.”

“If Lot doesn’t need the marauders, and if Dugan doesn’t have the brains to organize them, then who else is there?”  Arthur said.

“What about that man Sir Perceval wanted you to find?”  Merlin turned to Caradoc, who almost choked on her wine.  Arthur and Anna looked at Merlin, confused.

“How—” Caradoc decided the question could wait.  “His name is Anders,” she said to Anna.  “I don’t know how he knows Dugan, but that’s your machinator.  And don’t count Lot out, just yet.  I caught Anders in Lot’s court, trying to forge a deal on Dugan’s behalf.”

“You help us take what we want and we’ll help you take what you want.”  Arthur said.

Caradoc nodded.  “Lot may figure it’s easier to stab a temporary ally in the back than face an enemy with a borrowed army on the field of battle.”

“So you’re facing Royns’s army led by Dugan, a guy named Anders with his marauders, and maybe Prince Lot?”  Merlin counted off on his fingers.

“Great,” Arthur said.  “When’s the fun begin?”

“If you’re right about these attacks tonight,” Anna replied, “within the week.”

Caradoc nodded.  “No army was marching out when I left, but they were getting ready.”

“And if you’re right about tonight, they’ll try to simply lay siege and starve us out.” Anna added.

“Which is why you need to meet them out there, on your terms,” Arthur said.

“Cameliard’s army isn’t a match for half of Royns’s army and the marauders; with Lot . . .”

Arthur considered this for a moment.  “Use the villagers, the survivors, anyone who wants to fight, and—”

“We can’t ask that—these people—”

“Are fighting for their homes,” Merlin said.  “You won’t have to ask.”

“And I need the names of every neighbor who’s even remotely friendly,” Arthur said.  Anna opened her mouth to object, but he cut her off.  “Anna, just give me their names.”

Anna wrote on a piece of parchment and gave it to Arthur.  As the list exchanged hands, Arthur said softly, _if you had just asked, I’d have said yes._   Anna looked into his eyes and replied, _a stranger?  And what could we have told you?_

When Arthur and Merlin had left, Caradoc said, “Do you really think he’s going to make a difference?  He’s only got nine fighters with him.”

“Who chased down a manticore.”

“Blaise and Percy killed it.”

“Two attacks from the creature, and he only lost three men—I think that denotes some skill on their part, don’t you?”

“He’s just a man, Anna.”

“Cameliard will take what it can get.”

 

There were only five names on Anna’s list, and Arthur sent his knights out before dawn as messengers.  He told them to plead on behalf of Cameliard, and if that didn’t sway the kings to join Leodogran’s cause, then they were to ask on behalf of Arthur, Prince of Camelot.

Arthur and Percival drilled the men—they also began training farmers, villagers, townsfolk—anyone who wanted to fight.  Blaise and Anna watched, Caradoc as well for a bit before slipping away again.  Merlin was right, many were more than willing, especially once they heard that the marauders who had destroyed their homes were part of a military campaign.  Leodogran, on the other hand had taken to his chambers.  One of Camelot’s remaining knights made a comment about cowardice, which resulted in a beating by half a dozen knights of Cameliard.  _Leodogran has a chronic condition_ , Blaise explained to Merlin, _it comes and goes—I’ve been treating it for years._

Since the marauders began their raids, Leodogran had established a network of outposts hidden variously throughout the land.  These were designed to monitor any suspicious activity, and a system of signals given to passing patrols meant _all’s well_ or _thieves on the prowl_.  Through smoke and bonfire, the outposts could also warn of oncoming armies.  Arthur insisted on checking every outpost himself, which is when they discovered an imposter.  In a station on a rocky outcropping in the woods, Cameliard’s man had been killed and replaced by one of the marauders.

“Or he could be a soldier of Royns,” Blaise said.

“The real question is, how did he know the signals?”  Anna said, pacing by the window, where she could see the men in training taking a break.

“He probably tortured your man,” Arthur said.

“Tate was loyal, honest—his integrity was beyond reproach—he’d have defended Cameliard with his dying breath—they got nothing from _him_ , I can promise you that.”  Percival’s drawn face stared at the floor in front of him.  They replaced the imposter with one of the villagers who was familiar with that region of the forest.  They searched the area and found a recently abandoned encampment—food, a few jewels and a surprising amount of gold was stashed there.  They took it all back to the city, and then they waited.

Three days.  Training was intense, and smiths worked all hours to forge swords and shields.  When Sirs Cadoc and Madoc returned with several cartloads of extra weapons and armor, and news that Echel had pledged his army, led by his son, spirits soared.  Echel was the closest neighbor, and though his army was small—Echel depended on his castle’s position on a cliff side for defense—it was assured.  Echel’s only condition was that Arthur _grace me with his presence—if he survives this little war._   King Iona, too, had offered his army on the strength of Arthur’s reputation, though his condition was Camelot’s friendship.  The rest of Arthur’s knights reported only ridicule and scorn—none of Leodogran’s other friendly neighbors believed Uther was even remotely involved in Cameliard’s affairs.

“Isn’t anybody interested in Leodogran’s welfare?”  Arthur said one night.

“Just you, it seems,” Merlin told him.  “And me—I care.”

“And the men?”

“They follow you.”

Indeed, the knights of Cameliard had grown to trust Arthur, and it was clear Percival respected him.  The knights of Camelot, however, grumbled quietly in their chambers.

“Great,” Sir Taran said, “I survive a magic monster just to die for a pretty little princess.”

“Leodogran’s enemy conspires with thieves and plays in shadows," Cadoc replied.  "The Prince is right to lend our aid.”

“Trust _you_ to say that, Cadoc,” Sir Rigel said.  “Leodogran would kill us all if he knew who the Prince really was.”

“We don’t know that for certain,” Sir Cadoc said quietly.

On the third morning, Percival disappeared.  Blue smoke was seen rising in a column to the west—the signal of an approaching army.  Preparations sped through the city and the tents outside where Echel’s son, Gordon, was camped.  No sign still of Iona’s men, but word came that they were on the march.  Leodogran made an appearance, thanking Gordon for Echel’s help before moving to the parapet above the gates. 

“He seems sad,” Merlin said as he adjusted the saddle on Arthur’s horse.

“Merlin, if you insist on coming this time, you’d better put on some armor,” Arthur checked his weapons.

“On my saddle.”  Merlin still looked up toward Leodogran.

“All three of my brothers died in fights with unfriendly neighbors.”  Anna walked up, wearing trousers, her hair braided.  “He hates wars, battles, skirmishes—we don’t even host tournaments anymore.  Here, I want you to have this,” she held out a purple kerchief ornately embroidered with gold thread.

Arthur looked at it.  “I don’t need luck, Anna.  You seem to be preparing for a fight yourself.”

“If worse comes to worst, Cameliard will be ready, yes.  And it’s not for luck—I fully expect it back with both you and it in one piece.”  She still held out her kerchief.

“On the off-chance that worse comes to worst—”

“Then I’ll have no choice but to march down to the underworld with my harp and sing a sad song just to get permission to slap you.”

Arthur laughed.  He reached toward her, touching the kerchief—she closed her hand over his.

“Be careful,” she said.

“Trust me, Lady Anna.”

“I do.”  She looked into Arthur’s eyes and released his hand, her expression now mirroring her father’s.  She walked away as Arthur tucked the purple cloth beneath his collar and mounted his horse.  Merlin saw Anna meet up with Blaise and whisper something in his ear.  Blaise nodded and went off toward the stables.  Merlin shrugged on his hauberk, and adjusted his guantlets.

“Do you need help, Merlin?”  Arthur stared down, impatient.  Merlin shook his head and pulled himself onto the saddle as Blaise rode up.

“Would you believe that there’ve been whole books written about the use of magic in war?” he said to Arthur.

“No,” Arthur looked askance at him while Merlin’s eyes grew wide.

“Good,” Blaise said, “because there’s hasn’t.  But Anna asked me to accompany you and do what I can—even if it’s just tending the wounded.”  Blaise rode away toward the gate, Arthur staring after him.

“Well, we can use all the help we can get at this point, right?”  Merlin said.

Arthur’s face tightened and he gripped his reins.  “Come on.” 

They rode for miles, Arthur’s knights right behind him, the knights of Leodogran and Echel blending together in a mass of clanging armor and hoof beats.  Gordon, Echel’s son watched Arthur almost the entire way to an open valley where they saw a vast army standing in wait.

“This should be interesting,” Gordon pulled alongside Arthur.

“You say that like this is a game,” Arthur said.

“My soldiers don’t often get to see real war, or battles as the case may be.”

“Great.”

“Then again, neither have you.”  Gordon winked at Arthur.  “But we wouldn’t have come if we thought you didn’t stand a chance—oh, look at that.”

In the valley before them, a hundred or so men from the front lines were heading toward them.  A knight on horseback rode out in front and was yelling something—the men just kept moving forward.

“Don’t these things traditionally begin with an onslaught of arrows?” Taran said from behind Merlin.

“Wait.”  Arthur held up his hand.  He watched the marchers coming toward them, and scanned the army behind them, where several other knights on horseback seemed to be trying to halt them.  “Those are Lot’s men, aren’t they?”

“I guess he didn’t want to miss the fun after all,” Gordon said.

“Wasn’t Lot forcing people to join his army?” Merlin asked.  The men were now close enough to see that their armor was makeshift, their weapons poorly-made, and their demeanor . . . farmers.

“He put villagers in the front to be slaughtered,” Arthur’s face hardened.

“To act as human shields,” Gordon said.

“It seems the villagers didn’t like that idea,” a female voice said from behind them.  Arthur, Gordon, and Merlin all turned to find a knight riding up beside them, fully armored.  “Someone might have sent word through the camps that Leodogran was going to make a stand and that he had provided actual aid rather than empty assurances.”

“Caradoc,” Arthur smiled as the army of a hundred villagers bowed before him.  “Behind us,” Arthur motioned with his head.  “There’ll be plenty of fighting to go around.”  Voices carried up as friends and acquaintances greeted each other.  Arthur rolled his eyes and Merlin smiled.

“Lot’s army is untried,” Caradoc said.  “I think if you establish yourself on the battlefield, he’ll withdraw rather than lose his toys for Dugan’s cause.”

“That will just leave Royns’ well-trained army.”  Arthur looked at the army stacked and lined up on the opposite end of the valley.  A rider was approaching.

“Do we wait for Iona?” Merlin asked.

“No,” Caradoc said.

“Where the hell is Percival?” Arthur looked around.

“He said he’d be here,” Blaise drew his horse between Arthur and Caradoc.  “Whatever, the offer is, don’t take it,” he said to Arthur as the messenger from Dugan’s army arrived.

“The Lord Dugan graciously extends this one-time offer to surrender peacefully, and he promises to take Cameliard under his protection—a deal you should not pass up,” the man said.

“Is Dugan trying to back down or sell me a horse?” Arthur replied.  Gordon chuckled.  The messenger ground his teeth, a vein in his neck protruding.

“You will all die, if you pursue this,” he said.

“Don’t be so sure,” Gordon said. 

Arthur stared hard at the messenger.  “Tell Dugan if he leaves now and takes his band of marauding cowards with him, and promises never to bother Cameliard again, I’ll let him go.”

The messenger narrowed his eyes, and turned his horse.

“That pass over there is a good place to stash a contingent of men for an ambush—Dugan’s had a lot more time to reconnoiter and hide men who’ll attack once we start tiring,” Caradoc said as they watched the man ride away.

“Blaise, I don’t suppose you can flush out these hidden contingents,” Arthur kept his eyes on Dugan’s army, trying to spot Lot.

“You really have no idea what magic does, do you?”  Blaise said.  “No, not unless I already know where they are.  You want the pass closed,” he turned to Caradoc, “then give me a few minutes.”

Blaise rode off, up a small hill.  Merlin tried to see what he was doing, but Arthur moved his forces forward, almost to the middle of the valley.  He lowered his lance, and all the knights around him followed suit, including Caradoc.  They waited.  They stared at the enemy without moving.  They could see the army before them exchanging glances among their ranks.

A crash sounded from nearby.  Many of the men looked over to the pass to see an avalanche of rock tumbling down, piling on the ground.  Arthur and Caradoc kept their gazes forward, unfazed by the sound.  One of the men of the opposing army rode forward to the front lines.  He stared agape, almost in panic, at the tumbling of rocks and turned to look at Arthur.  The man was tall and skinny, and his armor was polished, new.  He had his helmet off, revealing dark brown hair that was long enough to get in his eyes.  Staring at Arthur, he raised his arm, spear in hand, high over his head and yelled, a loud caterwaul that reached everyone’s ears.  He lowered his spear and charged.  Arthur remained unmoving for a moment as this man—Dugan, Caradoc identified—came at him, followed by his army.  Then Arthur spurred his horse forward—they clashed, Arthur knocking the man from his horse in a single blow. 

The battle had begun.

Dugan ran back behind his men to grab a sword and another spear, and tried to remount his horse.  Other knights replaced him, fighting with Arthur, blocking his way to Dugan.  Half an hour passed—swords, spears, shields, blood, horses rearing, bolting, or dying themselves—a horn sounded.

“Pssht,” Caradoc was again beside Arthur.  “Dugan really is inexperienced; he should’ve tried tiring us out for at least another fifteen minutes before setting a fresh pack of dogs on us.”

Fifty men emerged from the south, led by Anders—short, with wide brown eyes.  From the north another rider approached—Percival, charging at Anders with his lance aimed at the man’s head.  They unhorsed each other, taking to swords on the ground.  Percival chased Anders across the field of battle, and those who came near them heard Anders laughing.  He laughed as Percival lunged, as Percival thrust, even as Percival pierced his shield and armor, wounding him in the chest.  Anders fell to his knees, and Percival spit in his face—the man laughed, tossing his unshaven face back and howling to the wind.  Percival held his sword tip at Anders’ throat as another horn sounded. 

King Iona, and his sizable army.

Confused, Dugan looked to the north, from where Percival had come.  Nothing was there.  Lot beside him narrowed his eyes at Arthur and lunged.  Arthur blocked.  An intense fight ensued.

“Surrender now!” Arthur yelled to both Lot and Dugan.

Angered, Lot redoubled his efforts, calling Dugan to fight beside him.  Arthur disarmed Lot and turned quickly to block Dugan’s swing.  Lot looked around to see his and Dugan’s—or rather Royns’ forces losing to two small armies, a retinue of poor villagers, and reinforcement from Iona.  Lot turned to look at Dugan fighting Arthur and disgust filled his face—he jumped on the nearest horse, and started to ride off.  But instead, he grabbed a crossbow and turned in his saddle to take aim at Arthur.  Focusing on the moving body harried by Dugan, he felt heat between his hands and dropped the crossbow in time to see it burst into flame.  Lot looked around, no one had seen what happened, and he could spot no cause for it. 

Some distance away, Merlin watched Lot set his horse galloping away and calling to his men.  Merlin, too, was surrounded by men busy fighting, and the only one who had seen the golden flash in his eyes, or noticed that Merlin had muttered in another language as Lot’s crossbow lit up was Blaise, who had maintained a vigil over the battle.  He stared at Merlin, then looked to Arthur, still fighting Dugan.

“No!” Dugan shouted at the retreating Lot.  “Nooo!”

“Yield.”  Arthur panted, sweat running into his eyes.

“No!”  Dugan looked at his forces, now outnumbered, and lunged at Arthur.

Arthur punched him to the ground, and said, “surrender!”

Dugan clenched his jaw, eyes narrow, armor battered.  He again attacked Arthur, renewed fervor fueling his thrusts.  However, Arthur still got the upper hand, this time plunging his sword deep into Dugan’s torso.

Their leader fallen, the remains of Royns’ half-army laid down their arms.  Cheers sounded from the villagers whose homes had been destroyed by Dugan’s thwarted siege plot.  The head of his accomplice, and perhaps even puppet-master, Anders lay where it had rolled when Percival had executed him.  Percival was still crouched beside the body, looking toward Anders’ separate head, a dark, empty expression clouding his face.  Caradoc, her helmet off, her dark hair loosening from the band in which she’d tied it, placed a hand on Percival’s shoulder, her other still gripping her sword.

“I know.”  Face hard, she stared at Percival a moment before taking his sword from him.

Messengers were sent back to Cameliard, and soon Leodogran and Anna joined them, bringing food, water, and assistance for Blaise.  Anna went off, searching through the post-battle melee and identifying the worst injuries.  Blaise spoke with Leodogran for a moment.

“He’s good.”  Blaise watched as Arthur, some distance away, offered his hand to Caradoc.

“Clearly.”  Leodogran said.  Arthur glanced at Anna crouched beside a knight writhing on the ground, a druid treating him.  “Shouldn’t you be tending our men, Blaise?”

“What about _him_?”  Blaise could see that Arthur was limping.

“We owe him great thanks.”

“He could not have gained such skill without also gaining a reputation—a few letters—”

“Blaise!  You should know better than to take me for a fool.  His demeanor, the way he walks, the way he acts, the way he orders his men and the way they obey him—the fact that he has a servant, and that Echel and Iona so readily responded to him when we had for so long been _begging_ for help—if he is not himself a prince then he has the favor of one.  And he has earned the right to have his wishes respected.  Now go see to our injured men.”

In the valley, tents had been erected to treat the wounded, and the knights of Cameliard were binding prisoners, separating Royns’ men from the marauders.  Royns’ men would probably be ransomed back to him, but the marauders would most likely be executed.  In the largest medical tent, men lay waiting for Blaise, including Arthur and several knights of Camelot.

“Well, we’re not dead yet,” Cadoc said to Taran as they stood by Madoc, who’d broken his arm.

“There’s still time,” Taran smiled and looked to his own wounds—several cuts on his hands and arms, and a slice in his side that actually wasn’t as deep as it seemed.  Cadoc was just severely bruised, especially on his butt and leg where he’d been thrown from his horse. 

“At least the Prince will get to finish his wooing, now that we all have so many injuries to recover from.”  Taran looked over to where Arthur was lying, Merlin hovering over him and binding a deep gash in Arthur’s left leg.

“I don’t think he’s wooing the Princess,” Cadoc said quietly.

“We didn’t do this out of the goodness of his heart.”

“Taran, have you met Prince Arthur?” Madoc spoke out of the corner of his mouth, glancing over to Arthur.

Arthur was resting while Merlin checked his wound—neither heard the three knights on the other side of the tent.

“Stop fussing with it,” Arthur said to Merlin as Merlin again prodded his leg.

Anna entered and smiled.  “How is he?” she said to Merlin, as Arthur’s eyes were closed.

“Still in one piece.”  Arthur kept his eyes shut.

“It’s just as well,” Anna said, “I haven’t practiced the harp in years.”

Arthur laughed and pulled out the purple kerchief and offered it to her, finally opening his eyes.  “It’s a little—”

“Sweaty?” Merlin suggested as they looked at the drenched cloth.

Anna smiled again and chuckled.  “That’s not a problem, but keep it anyway—it’s the very smallest thanks we can give.”

Arthur lowered his arm.  “Next time, could you just say please, instead of the baiting games?”

“I’d rather there not be a next time.”  She touched his hand.  “But yes, I suppose I can manage ‘please’.”  She turned back toward the tent’s opening, pausing long enough to look at Cadoc, Madoc and Taran and mouth _Thank You_ to them.  They bowed their heads and she left, Blaise passing on her right, into the tent.

“Well, her smile always did brighten a room,” he said, smiling himself.

“Yes,” Arthur said vaguely, staring at the opening of the tent and fingering the kerchief. 

Blaise’s smile disappeared, and he turned to Arthur’s wound.  “Hopefully, we won’t have any debilitating injuries,” he said.

“Am I starting to wear out my welcome?”  Arthur looked at him.

“Not my call.  I am surprised your man hasn’t treated you,” Blaise looked at Merlin.

“Merlin?  He can barely get tea right,” Arthur said.

Merlin stared at Blaise, who looked back and forth between Merlin and Arthur.

“You’ll need water, won’t you,” he said to Blaise.  “I should go get some water.”

“No, that’s enough.”  Blaise indicated a line of buckets at the side of the tent, each filled with water, and as he tended Arthur’s wound, stole furtive glances at Merlin. 

Merlin avoided eye contact.

 

Celebrations in Cameliard extended from the moment the army returned—bandaged together as it was—long into the night.  Arthur and his men were the guests of honor, along with Gordon, son of Echel, and King Iona.  Arthur and his men were even given another set of clothes, special for the occasion.  In the great hall, Leodogran welcomed and thanked everyone.  Food and drink poured forth copiously.

“I told you the day would be interesting,” Gordon said into Arthur’s ear.  “My father looks forward to meeting you.”  Gordon leaned closer and whispered, “the actual you.”

Arthur kept his attention on the surrounding party.  “Are you not staying long, then?”

“We leave in the morning,” Gordon smiled.

King Iona also reminded Arthur of the conditions for his aid, pulling Arthur aside to speak without being overheard.  Then Iona spent the rest of the evening talking to Leodogran, and sometimes Anna, and sometimes Blaise, and sometimes the Lady Julia—but always his eye seemed to wander to Arthur and Anna.

“What’s he looking at?”  Merlin asked Blaise.

“Iona?  He’s monitoring the winds.”

“Oh.”  Merlin waited for Blaise to elaborate, but Blaise offered nothing more.  Merlin looked at Blaise, at his dark blue robes, his dark, calloused hands, his silver-speckled black hair and neatly-trimmed beard.

“Are you staring at me for a reason?”

“What? No.”  Merlin turned his head to look at the people around him.  “I’ve just never met a sorcerer before, I mean an actual one—like an accepted one.”

“What—you don’t look in the mirror?”  Blaise turned his full attention to Merlin.

Merlin stared at Blaise, his mouth agape, his eyes frantic.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I saw that trick you pulled on Lot—your friend really has no idea that you can do magic?”

Merlin glanced around, half-panicked.  “Please,” he said, “please, you can’t tell anyone— _anyone_.”

“As you wish.”  Blaise turned back the party.  Arthur walked up.

“Have you seen Percival?” he asked Blaise. 

“You haven’t heard?”

Arthur and Merlin looked at him, concerned.

“Percy—Percival turned traitor.  He told the locations of the outposts, gave the marauders the signals we used—he was even supposed to ambush us on the field, but the contingent of men were all unconscious when we found them.”

“That’s impossible,” Arthur said.

“You haven’t known him that long, who are you to say?”

“Anna doesn’t believe it.”  Arthur looked to the end of the hall where Anna was standing with her goblet presented before her, a servant filling it.  She wore a dark red, shimmering dress with her hair bound up in twists and curls atop her head.

“Is that Caradoc?”  Merlin asked of the servant filling her cup.  “Why isn’t she dressed up like everyone else?”

“Caradoc wears whatever she feels like wearing,” Blaise said.  They watched the two women, Caradoc saying something to Anna, Anna’s face drawn and unhappy—a stark contrast with the rest of the festivities.  She bit her lip and thrust the full goblet into Caradoc’s hands, marching from the room.  Arthur and Merlin followed.

Anna fled down to the jail cells, storming up to the bars behind which Percival sat with his head in his hands.

“I want to know why,” she said.

Percival remained still.

“Common mercenaries are schemers who want only money—if you were one, you’d be plotting your way out of here, not just . . . sitting—this isn’t you, Percy!”

Percival looked up.  Crying.

“The man, Anders,” Arthur said as he and Merlin moved to stand beside Anna.  She kept her eyes glued to Percival. 

“You were very keen to find him,” Merlin said.

“And to kill him,” Arthur stated.

“Would you like his head—the one you chopped off?”  Anna wrapped her hands around the bars, leaning her cheeks between them.  “Would that buy an explanation?”

Tears ran down Percival’s face.  “He took my family—” Percival choked, burying his head back in his arms.  That was all he said that night.

Arthur demanded to see Percival’s family, so dawn the next morning found Bors and Caradoc leading Arthur and Merlin through little-used paths in the forest.

“They lived alone?” Arthur asked after an hour or so.

“Seana, his wife, and his mother preferred the woods—there was a town nearby.”  Bors’s face was drawn tight and looked as though he hadn’t slept.

“I’m sure he had a reason,” Merlin started, but Bors shot fire and daggers from his worn-out eyes and Caradoc shook her head back and forth in warning to Merlin not to press the issue.

When they finally arrived at the small town near Percival’s real home, not his chambers in Cameliard, but where his family dwelt, there was only an elderly gentleman and his family, clearing away debris and sawing wood.  The town was decimated.  Arthur and Merlin recognized the old man as the one Anna had been talking to in the lower town one day.  His little granddaughter ran around, and her parents rummaged through the charred piles.  When the old man saw them, he bowed low.

“We’re just passing through, Robert,” Bors said.

The family stopped what they were doing to watch them go, grand smiles and gratitude on their faces which belied the mission Arthur, Merlin, Bors and Caradoc were now on.

“What happened to the family that lived just through the forest that way?”  Bors stopped and turned around, pointing in the direction they were heading.

“I don’t know, Sir Bors,” Robert said, “they seemed to disappear a few days before the marauders burnt our town to the ground.”

Bors nodded and they continued on their way.  They found a circle of encampments surrounding a small house two miles away from the town.

“Why would there be campfires around the house?” Merlin asked, “why not use the house?”

“Anders was laughing.”  Caradoc kneeled before the remnants of one of the campfires—it had been abandoned a day ago.

Bors, Arthur and Merlin approached the house, but Caradoc remained outside, staring at the campfire pits.

“There must have been a dozen men guarding this house,” Arthur said.

“Percival can take a dozen men.  A dozen fires means at least two dozen men—Anders knew who he was dealing with.”  Bors paused at the door.  He entered and immediately came back out, aghast.

Arthur pushed by him, Merlin close behind.  Inside the house were three bodies, two women and a baby, posed as if merely sitting down for a meal.  They’d been dead at least two weeks.

Outside, Bors ran at Caradoc.  “Did you know?” he screamed.

She stood up.  Arthur and Merlin emerged from the house.

“Don’t you want to see?”  Bors pushed Caradoc, who tripped backwards a couple of steps before regaining her balance.  “Busy little fly, full of secrets—don’t you want to see?”

Caradoc punched him, sending him to the ground.  Tears were running down his face.  Arthur and Merlin ran between them.

“Did you know what happened in there?” Arthur said softly to Caradoc.

“Anders was laughing.  In the middle of a battle he was laughing at Percival, as Percival was about to kill him, still he laughed.”  Caradoc’s eyes welled up.  “I don’t want to see.”  She walked back toward their horses.

“We can’t just leave,” Merlin said.  “We have to bury them.”

“Looks like you’ll have to see.”  Bors stared at Caradoc from the ground.

~ 

“How long?” Percival still sat in the same spot he’d occupied the night before.

“At least two weeks.  You already knew that, didn’t you?” Arthur said.

Percival stared at the space in front of him.  “They kept giving me letters—it was her writing—but it wasn’t her words—it wasn’t her.”

~ 

A full council.

A question: execute a traitor—execute Sir Percival?

“It sounds like he knew his family was dead, but still he acted as an agent for Dugan,” one of the men of the council said.

“He didn’t want to lose hope, Gaudifier,” Anna stood off the side, looking at a tapestry. 

“He did take out a contingent of Royns’ men—alone,” said Arthur, who also stood.

“You’re allowed to observe—this is not your business,” an elderly knight, Sir Sagramore said.

“And he drugged them,” Gaudifier said.

“He did the best he could under the circumstances,” Anna turned to the council.

“He was also the one who told the scout to light the signal, warning us,” Blaise said.

“He still betrayed Cameliard,” another old man said.

“He was coerced.  Please, father.”

“What would you have me do?” Leodogran sat at the head of the table.  “He was in a terrible predicament, I know that, Anna, I wouldn’t wish the choices he had to make on anyone.  But _he made them_.  And Cameliard paid.  A siege was Dugan’s original plan, remember that, and it seems Percival gave every piece of information they needed—we got lucky that he came,” Leodogran indicated Arthur.

“Then consider exile,” Anna fell to her knees beside Leodogran, her hands on his arm, her eyes locked on his, “Please, father—if power can’t be tempered with mercy, then what’s the point?”

 

Exile.

In the throne room Anna stared out a window.  She watched the city’s vibrancy recede into stillness as twilight bled to darkness.  Blaise entered through the small door behind the throne and stared at her for a moment.  He took a step to approach her, but heard the main doors open as their mysterious, advantageous, lucky guest, came in.  His footsteps echoed as he traversed the hall.

“You think we should have just executed him” Anna said.

“No.”  Arthur turned to look out the window.  “I think you’re right about mercy.”

Anna still stared into the darkness outside; the darkness stared back, a reflection—a surface behind which observers couched themselves.  Behind Blaise Caradoc entered, her practiced footsteps silent as she walked up and put her hand on Blaise’s back, rubbing his shoulder blade.

Anna still stared into the night.  “His family was brutally killed, his home razed, his friends . . . lost through his own actions, we must be honest—and tomorrow we are sending him out alone into the sunshine.  Maybe that’s not really mercy.”

“She’s confiding in him, Cara.”  Blaise whispered.

“I’d say she’s been confiding in him since he got here—under the circumstances, a stranger became the only person she could turn to.”

“So why does he fill me with dread?”

“Memories?”  Caradoc handed Blaise a mantle of red, a dragon emblazoned on the shoulder.

Blaise glanced at the mantle, brows furrowed.  He slipped out of the room and Caradoc followed, into the torchlit corridor.  He stared hard at the dragon insignia against the bright red of the cloak.

“Camelot,” he sighed closing his eyes as if in pain.  “He’s Uther’s son.”

“They’ve been hiding their mantles under their saddles and mattresses—one of them even ripped open a pillow.”

“Why is he here?”

“Got lost?  Do we tell Leodogran?”

“He doesn’t want to hear it—nor does Anna I imagine.”  Blaise thrust the cloak back into Caradoc’s hands.  “Put it back,” he said, turning his head to the door behind him, where Anna and Arthur maintained their silent throne room vigil.

 

The morning was overcast, the sun a vague bright circle piercing the blanket of clouds.  Arthur and Merlin stood in the town square, waiting.  Merlin looked toward the castle.  Perhaps Leodogran was on his throne, Blaise close by, the sins of a reluctant traitor already forgotten—other matters of state to attend to.  Would Blaise reveal Merlin’s secret?  Merlin’s eyes blinked as a soft breeze prickled his eyes.  Blaise was inscrutable to him, a cipher, and a potential fount of heretofore forbidden knowledge.  Merlin turned his gaze to Arthur, whose expression was stoic—bereaved.

“There,” Arthur hit Merlin on the arm with the back of his hand.

A small escort brought Percival through the city.  Percival squinted, his eyes, empty, adjusting to the sudden brightness of the world outside his cell.  No specific crowd had gathered for this particular procession, only the normal activities of peasants and shopkeepers going about their business.  Percival was an exile, he didn’t belong, he had become a non-entity.  Yet, as the guards passed with him in tow, people around glanced briefly at their unfortunate captain before averting their eyes—in taverns and kitchens that night there would be rants against the unfairness of it all, but for now, silence was the rule.  The guards, for their part, kept their eyes forward, their expressions blank.  As they passed, Merlin and Arthur fell into line beside Percival.

“I’ve convinced Leodogran to let you take one of my horses.”  Arthur looked at Percival.

“No.”  Percival kept his eyes ahead.

“It’s not an offer.  There’s a horse waiting at the gate.”

Percival remained silent for a while as they walked down the street.  “The men tell each other that Leodogran has asked you to stay as Captain of the Guard,” he said finally.

Arthur said nothing in return. The gates were visible before them—Anna had the reins of a horse in her hands as she watched them approach.  When they reached her, she met Percival’s eyes and held out the reins to him.  He shook his head.

“If you really prefer walking.”  She handed the reins to Merlin and looked out at the countryside.  “It is a long road, though.”

“Why are you doing this?”  Percival stared hard at her.  “You’re not doing me any favors.”

She considered Percival for a moment, then dismissed the escort.  As the men marched back through Cameliard’s gates, she took Percival’s arm and led him from the city.  Arthur grabbed the reins from Merlin and they followed.

“I’ve never been in love,” she said.  “I’m told it makes you feel special—like the only world you’ll ever need is the other person.  If I ever come to feel that way about someone, I know that I would not want the end of my life to be the end of his.  You’re right, Percy, I’m not doing _you_ a favor.”  She stopped.  She turned to face him.  She squeezed his hand and headed back to Cameliard, briefly acknowledging Arthur and Merlin.  They watched her go.  And then, as if on some silent cue, Arthur, Percival and Merlin—the horse’s reins still in Arthur’s hands—began to walk down the road.  Percival’s path to exile was strangely serene and deserted.  Not a soul passed them as they went, and eventually they entered the forest—still they said nothing, Arthur only breaking the silence once they reached a fork, where they stopped.

“Go to Camelot.”

“No.”

“There’s a place for you there.”

“No.”

“Where will you go then?”

Percival stared before him—at the empty road, the empty air.  “Wherever I can do some good I suppose, I don’t know.”

“You can do some good in Camelot—I need men like you.”

“I bet you say that to all the errant knights.”  Percival almost smiled, but his face fell.  “Are you abandoning Leodogran, then?”

Arthur looked away, leaving only the birds to respond with their coos and trills.  “I trust your honor, Percival.  You belong in Camelot,” he still looked at the fork in the road.  Percival stared at Arthur, and then he reached over and took the reins, leaning in toward the horse as if to whisper something in its ear.

“My father was executed because his brother practiced magic.”  Percival’s words were clear, matter-of-fact.  He moved in front of the horse to face Arthur.  “I was born in Camelot—my mother smuggled me out when I was still very small.  They weren’t sorcerers.  My mother says my uncle was an overgrown rapscallion, that he knew just enough magic to impress pretty girls and swindle stupid men.  But it was enough.  My father tried to sneak him out of Camelot, too—they were caught.  No, Prince Arthur, I’m sorry, but I can’t be a part of Uther’s court.”

There was nothing else to say.  Arthur held the horse’s bridle while Percival mounted.

“Do you intend to stay in Cameliard?”

Arthur gave no indication of what, if anything, he had decided on the matter.  He looked back at Percival, who said one last thing before setting his horse to the right fork.

“Be careful.  There’s more than one kind of intrigue in the court of Cameliard.”

“What does that mean?”  Merlin asked as they watched him recede.

“The same thing it means in any court, Merlin—plenty of people plot to seize power.”

“Oh.  We’re not going back to Camelot, are we?”

“You’re catching on.”

Arthur and Merlin turned back to Cameliard—back to the court full of intrigue; back to Leodogran, the tormented king, and his stalwart daughter, Anna; back to Blaise, the sorcerer full of suspicion; back to being men without names; and back to a troupe of men who were not going to be happy about staying.  In the sky above, the sun had lost its piercing circle of light through the clouds that now released a half-hearted rain.

 

 

_\--end--_


End file.
